“If I find anything out, Captain, I’ll be sure to let you know.”
Captain Winters made a noise that sounded suspiciously like “Humph!” Then he said, “I guess that’s all we can ask for. Good night, Matt.”
“Good night, sir.” Matt hung up the phone and picked at dinner until his father gathered up the dishes and began washing them. Matt dried, then went to his room — and the computer-link chair.
Again, Matt waited until he’d reached a busy Net node before he donned Leif Anderson’s Mr. Sticks proxy. Then he activated Cat Corrigan’s communications protocol and streaked across the neon wonderland. Yes, he was coming up on the government Net areas. Then he veered off into the quieter neighborhood of the rich and well-connected.
There was the glowing version of Mount Vernon, dead ahead.
He rocketed straight for the glowing wall…and crashed.
Matt huddled on the cushions of his computer-link chair, holding on to his head as if he feared it was about to fall off. His teeth were gritted together so tightly, the muscles in his jaw ached. But he didn’t want to yell, didn’t want to bring his parents in.
Pain seemed to be pounding along every neuron in his brain. He’d experienced system crashes before, and this was no worse than any of them. Certainly, he was better off than Leif Anderson had been after being hit by that virtual bullet.
Matt was conscious, and breathing…and aware of every twinge racing around his nervous system. He knew that the fizzling pain would die away. By the time he woke up tomorrow morning, all he’d have was a mild headache.
What really hurt was the way he’d been cut off from Caitlin Corrigan.
Man, Matt thought. When she doesn’t want to answer questions, she certainly lets you know!
Chapter 9
Even a night’s sleep hadn’t completely erased the headache from Matt’s crash — literal and figurative — with Cat Corrigan’s system. As he rode to school on the autobus, Matt daydreamed about confronting the girl, grabbing her, giving her a good shaking. Didn’t she know he was trying to help her?
Annoyed, Matt shook his head — and wished he hadn’t. Of course she didn’t know he was trying to help her. He really wasn’t. He was trying to track down the virtual vandals who’d caused such chaos and hurt Leif Anderson. Was he getting turned around because one of those vandals turned out to be pretty…and scared?
Besides, there was no way he could confront Caitlin without giving away his identity. Not unless he wanted to give a new target to this bunch of nuts who could shoot people in holoform.
But with Caitlin hiding out from him, he’d lost any chance of unmasking the other members of the group.
Or had he?
Prep period seemed louder than usual, thanks to Matt’s continuing headache. But he pushed that aside, waving over Andy Moore and David Gray.
“Idiots,” Andy growled. His sunburnt face had reached the peeling stage, and he was pretty annoyed that some classmates had hung the nickname “Scab” on him. Between anger and the remaining burn, his face looked redder than ever.
“Keep that up, and they’ll start calling you ‘Tomato,’” David warned. “Besides, you’ve stuck some people with a few nicknames. If you dish it out—”
“Yeah, I know, I’m supposed to take it,” Andy grumbled. “But that doesn’t say anything about having to like it.”
He grinned at Matt. “So how’s the big investigation going? I figured that’s why you dragged us over — especially since we barely heard a word from you after Saturday. Have you been spending all your time with…Caitlin?”
Andy made the girl’s name sound incredibly gooey, finishing with a romantic sigh.
Matt didn’t know whether to be embarrassed or angry. “Get over it!” he snapped. “I’m trying to get a line on the three guys who are in the group.”
“You mean Caitlin hasn’t told you yet?” Andy asked pointedly.
“Why not give it a rest, Scab?” David said. Then, ignoring Andy, he turned to Matt. “What can I do to help?”
“Hey, don’t be like that,” Andy said quickly. “I want to help, too.”
Matt pulled two datascrips from his schoolbag. Each contained copies of the file Matt had gotten from the Net Force computers — the diplomatic brats who’d been in contact with Cat Corrigan.
“I’ve got two lists on these. One tallies a couple of hundred foreign guys who’ve been seen with Caitlin Corrigan. The other is the top-ten listing of diplo-brats who know her. What I need to know is how many of these guys would qualify as hackers.”
Matt scowled. “Somebody had to come up with the programming that lets the virtual vandals do what they do. They didn’t buy it in their friendly neighborhood Micro-Shop.”
Andy’s eyebrows zoomed toward his hairline. “So you think the kick-butt program was developed by a mad genius on Diplomatic Row?”
“I don’t know,” Matt admitted. “But I do know that the other vandals seem to be foreigners. One’s a Brit, another speaks with some kind of European accent. And the third doesn’t seem to speak English at all. So I’ve got two sorting jobs to do.”
“I call dibs on checking the language thing!” Andy swiftly said. “I’m betting there aren’t many people in diplomatic circles nowadays who can’t speak English. It’s the lingo everybody uses in international politics and business. Who’d want to have an ambassador standing around like a dummy?”
“So you figure that sort of diplomat would…stand out?” David asked.
Andy nodded smugly.
“Of course, with that kind of handicap, an ambassador might want to keep his ignorance a secret,” David went on.
Andy suddenly looked nervous.
“On the other hand,” David said, “computer courses or awards should be a matter of public record.” He gave his pal a big, cheerful grin. “Gee, I’m so glad I got offered the easy job.”
Matt was still chuckling as he headed for his first-period class.
There wasn’t much else for Matt to enjoy during the day. With all the investigation he’d been doing, his classwork had suffered. It seemed word immediately went out on TeacherNet, because every class instructor seemed to find some way to drag him over the coals.
At lunch, Sandy Braxton was sympathetic. “Mr. Fairlie really nailed you today,” the rich kid said. “I thought he only saved those kind of zingers for me.” Sandy started to laugh, but cut off in mid-chuckle. “I hope our project isn’t distracting you too much.”
More likely, he’s now worrying that I’m going to mess up whatever part he doesn’t, Matt thought.
Whatever his worry, Sandy seemed to forget it as he talked about something he’d discovered in his research on the Battle of Gettysburg. It turned out he had an ancestor who’d fought at the battle. “My great-great-great-great-great-grandfather joined a Virginia regiment and fought until Gettysburg,” Sandy said. “He got his arm shot off.”
“Did it happen during Pickett’s Charge?” Matt asked. If he remembered correctly, the general had led Virginian troops on his ill-fated attack.
“Nah. Great-Whatever-Grandpa was hit during the first day of the battle.”
“Oh,” Matt said. It was easy to see how Sandy got distracted into the gossipy side of history. Maybe he was interested in society gossip, too?
Matt decided to see. “Hey, Sandy, I’ve been hearing rumors about something weird going on among the diplomatic brats in town. Do you know anything about it?”
The other boy only shrugged, shaking his head. “My family doesn’t have much to do with the diplomatic corps,” he said. “Except my daddy made a bunch of money off some of them. He’s developing a gated community down by the Anacostia River. Thought there’d be a bunch of folks from Capitol Hill who’d move in. Instead, it’s, like, wall-to-wall ambassadors. Not that Daddy minds.” Sandy gave him a big, slow smile. “Money is money, no matter what country it comes from.”